Cooperstown knows how
to do holidays. Other towns
may attempt quaint and
heart-warming holidays,
but Cooperstown just happens
to have both the small
size and the community resources
to outshine even a
Hollywood rendition.
Take Halloween. Every
Oct. 31, children from all
over Cooperstown and the
surrounding villages and
hamlets gather on Main
Street, in costume, to parade
up Main Street, toward
Chestnut and onward
to the Fire Station, where
they are treated to some
good-natured tricks and no
small amount of candy. For
the youngest children, the
march to the Fire Station
may signal the end of trickor-
treating done mostly in
daylight. Meanwhile, older
kids and their families fan
out through the maze of village
streets, knocking on
one decorated door after
another, teaming up with
classmates and walking
until they just can’t ring
one more bell.
It is my assertion that
Cooperstown should have a
Welcome Committee that
gives newcomers with children
a literal welcome wagon
that they can take out
on Halloween (and to the
Farmers’ Market and the
Christmas Parade), so little
ones will have a smooth
ride home or to the car.
Christmastime is even
more outrageously quaint,
with Santa himself (not
some polyester-bearded
``helper’’) heralding the beginning
of the season in the
annual Christmas parade.
Surrounded by village
youngsters, Santa and Mrs.
Claus take the opposite
route into Cooperstown’s
Main Street, riding a sleigh,
drawn by jingling horses
from Railroad Avenue down
to the corner of Main and
Pioneer streets, where the
park holds a small outpost
of Santa’s North Pole HQ.
Throughout the season,
children can visit him there,
and post wish lists in his
mail box.
It’s enough to make
Frank Capra himself call
us corny. And then there is
July Fourth — Independence
Day.
Cooperstown wasn’t actually
born on the Fourth of
July, but it might as well
have been for the way it
embodies (and delivers) a
picture-perfect country celebration.
I remember my first
Fourth of July in Cooperstown.
Visiting from Florida,
where early July turns
everything into sweltering
sandpaper, we were enchanted
by the lush, green
hillsides and the fact that
we had to wear sweaters
for an early evening excursion
on the lake.
As we gathered under
afghans and quilts, watching
the sky overhead deepen
from cornflower to violet
to an inky shade of purple black
just a few shades
lighter than the silhouettes
of treetops on surrounding
hills, it felt like settling into
the warm lap of the landscape.
At dark, fireworks
soared overhead with whistles
and shrieks, then exploded
like rogue stars, filling
the sky and echoing
around the basin of the
lake.
While the lake rocked
us, the hills hugged us
tight, and we knew we had
found a new home.
Elizabeth Trever Buchinger
could tell Frank Capra
a thing or two about a
wonderful life. You can connect
with her at www.moremindfulfamily.
wordpress.com.
